The Uncertainty Principle
by krisnreine
Summary: Post-ep something-or-other for 5x21. Fits in with my theory that while House and Cuddy may not be doing wrong-sided business on the sly just yet, that they have been making off-screen advances in their relationship that are leading somewhere tasty.


Post-ep something-or-other for 5x21. Fits in with my theory that while House and Cuddy may not be doing wrong-sided business on the sly just yet, that they have been making off-screen advances in their relationship that are leading somewhere tasty.

Title: The Uncertainty Principle - _The principle that it is not possible to know with unlimited accuracy both the position and momentum of a relationship._

Rating: G-ish.

Spoilers: 5x21

Notes: Everything I know about physics I learned from Luke Girardi and Dana Scully. So. Go with it.

**The Uncertainty Principle **- _The principle that it is not possible to know with unlimited accuracy both the position and momentum of a particle relationship._

He had no idea how long he sat there, staring into the place where Amber had been, feeling his mojo and sanity slipping away with every blink of his unseeing eyes. In his long, misspent life he accrued a variety of experiences with hallucination, fantasy, apparition and...well. Tripping. Usually he had a bit of heads up that it would happen, usually preceded by long hours of alcohol consumption and a few choice prescription drugs.

He allowed his eyes to track the curves of the piano in front of him, looking for physical evidence that she'd been there. A strand of hair, a fingerprint a...

The knock on his door startled him just slightly - did hallucinations knock on the door?

"It's unlocked!" He yelled and the doorknob rattled but didn't open.

"No, it's not." Came the female voice, and if she'd just been in here, what the hell was she doing back out there?

He took his time to the front door before opening it, closing his eyes as it swung open and the cool spring breeze filtered in. When he opened his eyes, bright blue ones stared back at him, just a hint sardonically.

"Are you...here?" House asked with what he was irritated to find sounded like trepidation. "Because as fantasies go, this one ranks up near the top. Only there would be a trench coat and little else."

She was leaning against the doorframe, watching him, eyes narrowed just the slightest.

"This is also part of the fantasy. You're on mute."

She couldn't help herself; her eyes rolled back and she stepped into the foyer, closing the door shut behind her. She leaned her shoulders against the cool wood, using it to momentarily bolster her resolve.

Friction

For House, as intriguing as it was having Cuddy in his living room, pressed against his front door looking just the smallest bit wanton and decidedly quiet, it was also unsettling. Until a few moments previous, he was confident in his ability to discern reality from imaginary. Now...he was not so sure.

"Sooo..." He drawled, pressing the tip of his finger to her collar, somewhat relieved that it was tangible. "What are you doing here?"

She eyed him in silence a few seconds more, the corner of her mouth inching into a dangerous half-grin before pressing her fingers into the center of his chest. And though she pushed just slightly, he leaned into her touch, drawn forward as opposed to repelled. They were balanced opposites, meeting each push with a pull. What was meant to repel the other only drew them closer, their orbits shrinking incrementally until, inevitably, they crashed together.

Cataclysmic.

Her fingers trailed up to his shoulder, burning a path of warmth until they paused at his neck.

"What are you doing?" He asked again, only this time his voice was sandpaper rough and, thought he would never admit it, quavering just a hint.

Later, after she has gone, he will try to recall if she pulled, he pushed, or they tumbled together but their lips crashed against each other, her hands clutching him against her. There was momentary resistance, uncertainly parsed by need. She was surprised to find he tasted of toothpaste and orange juice, not scotch or even the grainy aftereffects of vicodin. He, in turn, nearly sighed against the cinnamon spring heat he remembered from months past. Floral tea and aching warmth and she was clutching his t-shirt like a drowning woman, pulling him back into her, the doorknob wedged tightly into her back.

When she pulled away, her eyes were a stormy toss of lust and challenge, her hand sneaking behind her to turn the doorknob.

"Cuddy," House pressed his palm to the door, holding it closed. "What are you doing here?"

A step into his space was all it took to make him back away, the invisible magnetic barrier that drew them together and yet again apart.

Her smirk, rounded on slightly swollen lips, filled with half-spilled secrets.

"Marking my territory."

She stepped back through the now-open door, pleased at momentarily stunning him, widening her orbit once more to slip away. At the stairs she glanced back, her eyes twinkling with mirth. And promise.

(1/1)

MOAR POST-EP FIC PLZ.


End file.
